


Bath Bombshell

by MacPye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacPye/pseuds/MacPye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade doesn't find a mermaid in his bath. What he does find is infinitely better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath Bombshell

**Author's Note:**

> Translated into Chinese by MAD4O; translation can be found HERE: http://www.mtslash.org/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=224808&page=1&extra=.

Lestrade came home in a rush, aware that he was to meet Sherlock Holmes’s brother there, and he was running late.

He had just thrown off his coat and flung it over the back of the sofa, when he was stalled in his progress by the sound of splashing noises. There was no mistake; splashing noises were coming from his bathroom. Had he left a tap on and had a pigeon got in (again)? Did he have a strange kind of burglar in his flat?

He looked around for someting to use as a weapon to defend himself with, found his flat was miserably lacking anything useful, sighed deeply and wrenched open the bathroom door.

He almost had a heart attack.

In his bath, which was ever so slightly too small, a picture of utter relaxation, long, pale legs stretched out with the feet resting on the edge, daintily crossed at the ankles, showing more creamy, freckled skin than should be allowed by law, was none other than Mycroft Holmes.

Although he was seated in the bath with his back to the door, and his head was flung back so it rested the edge opposite his feet, Lestrade could still recognise the man from a previous meeting.

His right arm was casually hanging over the side, and he was holding a cigarette so elegantly it almost made Lestrade choke.

“Ah, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said in his precise tone, rolling the words off his tongue as if he was fully dressed and seated in his office.

“You’re in my bath,” was Lestrade’s only response. He felt foolish, but he did deserve some sort of explanation. He tore his gaze away from the glistening, freckled shoulders and saw that the government official had neatly stacked his clothing on the washing machine, as if they were waiting to be filed.

“It does appear that I am,” Mycroft said mildly, turning his head slightly so he could see Lestrade from the corner of his eye.

“Why?” asked Lestrade.

Mycroft’s toes wriggled slightly. “I don’t usually have the time to allow myself the luxury of a bath,” he said, “but I was here early, and since you have a poor way to hide your spare key, I was able to let myself in, and when I made a small tour of your flat, I saw your bath… Well, I thought I might as well use the time I had while waiting for you.”

While this sounded perfectly logical, in a way, it did still make Lestrade frown. “So you just, what, opened a tap and took your kit off?”

“Obviously,” quipped Mycroft dryly. “And do come over here, where I can see you. It is giving me a crick in my neck, having to look at you like this.”

Lestrade found himself obliging, if only to take the opportunity to get an eyefull of Mycroft’s… front.

The other man caught his eye, his expression amused, but there was a closed aspect to it. He had moved his head so that his chin was now sunk onto his chest, and he was looking at Lestrade from under his eyebrows.

“No,” Lestrade said.

“Come again?” said Mycroft, his cigarette halfway to his mouth.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not objecting to your smoking,” said Lestrade. “I just mean to say that that explanation is a rather weak one. You always know when someone is going to be somewhere if your’re keeping an eye on them. No, you  _knew_  when I was going to get home, even that I was delayed, because that’s your style. And still, you’re in the bath, with what looks like rather too much of my pine bath oil.” He allowed his fingers to play through the pleasantly warm, if oily, water, and only barely caught the way Mycroft’s nostrils flared as his fingertips swam dangerously close past his knee.

Lestrade looked at Mycroft intently. At first he’d dismissed it as the result of the water’s warmth, but now he realised the pink tinge to Mycroft’s features had a different reason altogether.

“I’m not saying I mind,” Lestrade continued in low, gravelly tones, his fingers now dancing over the surface of the water covering Mycroft’s stomach. He could feel a spring being coiled in his gut as he watched Mycroft’s pupils dilate.

“Mind,” echoed Mycroft, in what could almost pass for his normal voice.

“Not one bit,” Lestrade repeated himself, his oil-slick fingers now making their waltzing way up Mycroft’s right thigh towards his knee. “I’m just saying, you might as well be honest about it.”

“About…?” Mycroft let the question hang in the air as his breath halted. Lestrade had let his hand slide down Mycroft’s leg, and it had shot under water.

“About your reasons for being here,” Lestrade said, bringing his face closer to Mycroft’s. His questing hand found what he was looking for.

Mycroft’s eyes opened wide, then fluttered closed, and his head tipped back. He had opened his mouth to respond, but he only managed a groan as Lestrade’s hand worked under water.

“You - you really are far better at this than - Sherlock gave you credit for,” Mycroft ground out, unable to prevent his hips from bucking.

“Good lord,” Lestrade said, sligthly breathlessly, “I never did anything close to  _this_ to him!”

“I mean-meant you are better at being a detective,” Mycroft hissed.

“I think I’m flattered,” said Lestrade, now kneeling beside the bath, not giving a flying fuck about the water soaking the sleeve of his jacket and shirt.

“Oh, holy —” Mycroft groaned, his thigh muscles working as he fought to keep himself from pressing further into Lestrade’s hand, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the sides of the bath, splashing water everywhere.

“Shit, you’re just  _amazing_ ,” breathed Lestrade, his eyes fixed on Mycroft’s flushed face.

Mycroft made a strained, guttural sound, tensed for a moment, then shuddered uncontrollably in his release.

It took him a moment to open his eyes, but when he did, they fixed almost instantly on Lestrade. He lazily lifted Lestrade’s hand from the water, brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips against Lestrade’s fingers.

“I meant to simply ask you out for dinner,” he said, and Lestrade was delighted at how he sounded just a little bit away from his usual composure.

“That could still be arranged,” Lestrade said, and grinned.


End file.
